FAREWELL ROCKY Word Count 2055
We had a ramp ceremony for Rocky's departure from this hellish war zone. Just on dawn. It was still relatively cool, thank heavens. Everybody was lined up on either side of the tarmac stretching from the gaping doors of a hangar maybe two hundred metres out to the open loading ramp of the big Hercules cargo plane. We could see the driver and his mate wheeling Rocky's casket out of an ambulance in the hangar.
I was standing in line with the other nurses watching, numb. Rocky's girlfriend, Emily was a couple of people down from me, supported by Sister. The poor girl's a total wreck. Rocky and Emily were as close as could be. She had been on early call at our hospital and found Ernie after he was brought in. She screamed and screamed. We all came running and found her draped over him. We couldn't get her off him. Sister gave her a shot then after a minute we carried her to her cot. It's been days now and we've had to force her to eat.
Somebody came from behind me, took my elbow rather firmly and said. “C'mon, Suzie, you're needed.”
“What?" Not that I had any say in the matter, I looked around. It's Popey he propelled me back out of line, across the tarmac and into the hangar. All his misfit mates seemed to be there. Also the official escort party and the Padre who nodded and smiled regretfully. Is he regretful that his God has let another good man die?
Six of the escort and an officer, all pressed and polished. Popey and his mates were dressed a
little better than usual but still looked fairly scruffy. And they had their guns slung across their
backs. They'd made an effort to look half decent.
And there was Rocky's transfer casket. I could see bits of shiny aluminium with an Australian flag
draped over the top. It's mounted on a chrome-plated trolley on castor wheels. I remembered staring at it. That's Rocky? I couldn't come to terms with it.
Popey and his pals pushed the escort aside. “We're carryin' him. He's one of us. Killer, right front.
Suzie, right centre. Me, right rear. Animal, left front. Psycho, left centre. Nails, left rear.”
The officer in charge of the escort party was complaining. Popey got in his face. “He's ours! You
can lead us out if you like. Or get out of our way. Make a decision quickly, Animal's upset.”
I could see Animal, he was doing his snarling, slobbering act.
Even I was worried.
The officer said, “keep that bastard on a leash and we'll lead you out to the plane.”
“On your shoulders boys n' girls.” Popey told us. Rocky's inches above my shoulder.
“Put your right hand up'n'over and on his casket Suzie and keep him steady.”
“Padre, you're directly in front of the casket,” The officer in charge said. “All ready?”
“Set to go,” from Popey.
“I'll give the command 'slow march',” the officer ordered, “on the word 'march' we'll step off with the left foot. I'll call cadence for the first few paces until we settle in. Don't foul this up, there's a Movietone news-crew and camera out there. This will be shown around the world.”
“We're ready.” Popey said.
“Slooow. March! Left, pause, right, pause, Left, pause,----” and so it went. We left the hangar,
out into the harsh morning light. The cadence call dropped away, there was dead quiet, except for
the slow, measured tread of boots on the tarmac.
Moments earlier, as soon as I touched Rocky's casket the tears had started to run down my face. I looked across at Emily. I was trying to see through a veil of tears. Emily was leaning on Sister Colleen as we passed, a handkerchief clutched to her face. While I was staring, Sister, arm around Emily, walked her out of the ranks and towards us, they disappeared behind. They've joined our cortege.
All of a sudden all the nurses, hurried out to join us. As we proceeded, some of the blokes, Rocky's mates I suppose, fell in behind us as well. We passed the officers who saluted and then, for
goodness sake, the Commanding Officer removed his cap and fell in behind us. At this point a lone
bugler played 'The Last Post'. And I nearly lost the plot .
“Hang in there, Suzie, we're nearly there,” Popey whispered.
Killer said, “Watch the lip of the loading ramp.”
The officer in charge of the official escort gestured for them to split up and stand either side. We
marched through them, up the ramp and into the vast belly of the aeroplane, past the assembled aircrew until we were stopped by the loadmaster. He had us lower the flag-draped casket onto the floor. He folded up brackets out of the floor, hooked two tie-down straps over Rocky and pulled them tight.
“There you are mate, you're safe as houses.”
We all touched Rocky's casket as we left. I was crying silently. Emily was standing still, staring at Rocky. Sister Colleen handed her and her documents over to the loadmaster. She had been granted two weeks compassionate leave to take Rocky home. The loadmaster folded a webbing seat down beside Rocky and belted Emily in. Sister Colleen had packed her kit for her the night before and one of the nurses had brought it to the aeroplane earlier. There was also a handful of soldiers who finished their tour or were going home on leave.
I looked out, past the ramp. The large crowd was rapidly dispersing after the ceremony. The sun had climbed and the heat started to flood over us. Sister Colleen and a clutch of nurses were headed back to the hospital, I supposed. I didn't think the breakfast servery in the officer's mess was open yet and I didn't want to be alone. Or even share my grief with the other nurses. I didn't know what I wanted. Somebody put an arm around me. I looked, it was Popey. First time ever!
I had a flash-back. Shortly after I met him, I asked why he was called Popey. "Surely that is not your real name.”
"Mind your own business!" was his rude reply.
"I'll tell everybody that your real name is Percy P. Potts," I said.
"And I will kill you slowly and very painfully."
"If that is God's will, but tell me now, before I die."
“There is no God, Suzie. When I joined up I was more Catholic than the Pope. I went to morning
Masses, evening Masses, midnight Masses. I think that they even invented extra Masses just for me.
So everyone called me Popey. Then crap started to befall me. Soldier mates shot, family disasters, nuthin' but tragedies. So I stopped believing, became bitter, I suppose and became a raging atheist. I was angry! It's a bit sad I suppose when everything you ever believed in crumbles, ay?”
"I understand, Popey, you're right, it is sad. Maybe, one day---"
I realised that he was talking and snapped back to the present. He said, “You did well, Tuffy. Come back to our garden and have a drink with us.”
'Our garden', that was Popey-speak for their Garden of Delights with the big shady tree in front of
their tent from which Animal wanted to hang their enemies. He was only joking. Well, I thought he
was. I guessed Popey wanted to tell me what happened to Rocky. I nodded.
----
Seven of us, six soldiers and I sat in a circle on a selection of folding chairs and crates. A space between the sand-bagged tents on the shady side of the tree with a whisky bottle on the dusty ground in the middle. I had a plastic mug, the others had a selection of mugs and cups. One of
them had what appeared to be a stemmed goblet like the ones in the officer's mess.
Animal raised his glass and said, “Good onya Rocky.”
We all raised our glasses and repeated the toast.
The Hercules aeroplane with Rocky and Emily took off and I saw it disappearing roughly east into the rising sun. Goodbye, Rocky. Maybe goodbye to Emily, too. She may not be capable of coming back. I am beyond sad. I will miss the pair of them, and they were a pair! So much so.
The whisky relaxed me. I sat slumped, elbows on my knees remembering.
I recalled my last conversation with Rocky: “What on earth do you and Popey have in common?” I asked him. “This is one of life's great mysteries and I'm curious.”
“Ma petit Suzette,” he replied, “I'll tell you in total confidence. This is a God's honour secret,
okay? Popey and the boys fascinate me. I suspect that they are last of The Great White Hunters. If I'm going to write the great war novel, I'll have to do at least one patrol with them. Hemingway did lots of patrols.”
“Rocky, Emily and I are worried about you. You're an engineer. You're not required to go on
patrol You're more valuable in your workshop. Or fixing our hairdryers and stuff. Rocky my dear
friend, I don't even know your real name but I'm worried about you, taking chances like that.”
“No worries, Popey said that I'll be right. He'll look after me. Anyway, I'm Ernie. But when I was
on rookies my mates found out that I came from Rockhampton. Naturally I got Rocky.”
“And what does Emily call you? In private? In the heat of the night? In the moonlight? After the
witching hour? When she can catch her breath?” I was smiling.
“Mind your own business, Snoopy.”
I pouted.
----
I focused, looked around at the sombre gathering. Nobody had said anything. Maybe they didn't
know what to say. They were all looking forlorn.
I waited then I just had to ask. “What went wrong?” I was going to ask them how they managed to
foul up? He trusted you! You told him he'd be safe with you. You let him down, didn't you? I
wanted to scream abuse at these idiots. No, no. They're hurting enough as it is without me adding to
their obvious grief. I took a deep breath and a sip of the whisky. It burnt all the way down. How do people drink this?
Killer spoke quietly, “What went wrong? Dunno Suzie. We've never really been hurt badly before.
I think we'd started to believe in our own invincibility. That we were smart, cool, killing machines.
But that was wrong wasn't it? To be truthful, we've just been lucky so far.” He went quiet then
continued after a few moments, “We didn't do anything differently. We're always wary, super vigilant but I suppose crap just happens. That Scotch poet said, 'The best laid plans go ugly'. It's the law of averages, Sooz. A mathematical thing. The more you do something, the more you increase the likely-hood of the aforementioned crap happening.”
“Tell me what actually happened?” I asked him. Popey, their rough, tough leader seemed beyond
speech. He just sat there, mouth clamped shut, staring. I suspected he was reliving every moment,
wondering what went wrong. Where he went wrong. I'm sure that he would be blaming himself.
“Usual tried and tested procedure, the enemy passed us. We followed and shot them all," Killer told me. "We retreated, saw a muzzle flash, heard a shot then we found Rocky. A head-shot. He never knew what hit him. It was the rear guard, of course. He was well back. Probably stopped for a leak. Popey shot him, ran back, helped him on his way by stoving his head in with the butt of his gun. A coup de grace.”
At our little wake under the tree, Popey finally spoke, “God wasn't watchin' out for Rocky, ay?”
I remembered my own tragedies. My father deserting mother and I when the enemy were closing in. My mother dying early of cancer. My boyfriend being shot and medevacced out.
I told them all, “There is no God!”
“Amen to that!” Popey replied.
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